all across the hours
by Dave-ck
Summary: There are twenty four hours in a day. There are thousands of days in a lifetime. There are a million moments that make up their story. (Please note, rating increased to M for chapter 9.)
1. May 8th 2012, 1201am

**Disclaimer:** Castle belongs to the dudes who own Castle, obviously. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

'All Across the Hours' is blatantly stolen from 'The Hours' by 'Beach House'.

**all across the hours 1/24**

–

**May 8****th**** 2012, 12.01am**

–

The world is soft, warm and he feels like he's floating. He's adrift in the ocean, rising to the surface only to be met with stars.

He's every place and no place but he's not concerned – he's not alone. He was, once, in the _before_, but he's not now, not any more, because-

She's with him.

Her name floats through the whispers in the air and he thinks it's impossible – it should be impossible – but it's not. He doesn't see her, but he doesn't have to. There's a body next to his, warm and soft, and they're tangled together, intertwined, like two parts of one whole. It feels so right that it can't be anyone but her.

He could stay here, he knows, lost in the space between always and forever, but there's a tickle against his skin. There's a twisting path that appears before him, solid ground beneath his feet, and he struggles to grasp the thread of light, to rise up from the depths of slumber and meet the voice softly calling his name.

It's still dark when he opens his eyes, the light from his alarm clock not enough to dispel the shadows. There's a weight holding him down when he tries to sit up – soft, warm curves against his chest, long smooth legs tangled between his – he stops moving, confused, because he doesn't remember-

But he thinks he smells cherries.

He thinks, maybe, it's her.

And then it's almost too good to be true, the way her body slides against his, the way her lips-

She's kissing him, he realises, feathering a path along the side of his neck.

Rick slides his hand from where it rests on her hip, his fingers dancing along the smooth curve of her spine until they can tangle in the wild mess of her hair. He tilts her head back, finds her lips in a deep, lazy kiss.

She tastes of rain.

And it suddenly clicks in his head. The fog lifts and he remembers the echo of _you._

The woman at his door.

The one in his bed.

His kiss turns rougher as the memories flood his mind.

Honestly, he thought he'd been dreaming and when she moans into his mouth – her kiss filled with _want_ and _need_ and _fire_ – maybe, he thinks, he still is.

–


	2. August 12th 2047, 101am

**Warning: **Please don't read this chapter if you're bothered by character death. I feel the need to share this piece of their story, but I understand it can be quite confronting. I will post the next chapter shortly to make up for this one.

–

**all across the hours 2/24**

–

**August 12****th**** 2047, 1.01am. **

–

He breathes his last breath.

One last shuddering wheeze of an inhale and then nothing. No more.

His face is still, eyes closed and he looks so different, so foreign without the hint of laughter to lift the corners of his mouth, without the smile deepening the creases around his eyes.

Kate doesn't recognise him in his stillness. She doesn't recognise him like this because his face is always, _always_ so full of life.

Was.

His face _was_ so full of life.

_God_.

Kate presses her face against him, because it's late and she's so very tired that it's all that she can do to find the dip in his chest that's just _hers_.

A turn of her head, an ear resting over his heart, and she listens but hears nothing. There's nothing but the hum of the room and the echo of silence he leaves in his wake.

Her eyes squeeze tight, capturing the tears before they can leak out, because it hurts more than it comforts her, knowing it's the last chance she'll have to feel the way they fit together_._

The bed dips beside her and she feels the warmth of someone sitting at her back.

She's assailed by the memory – the little boy who'd climb into bed with them, the wriggling little body that would snuggle into hers when the nightmares were too close – and it's almost enough to be comforting, to drown out the quiet that should be filled with her husband's heartbeat.

"Mom." A hand settles on her shoulder, the fingers thick like his, but she can't move. Can't let go. Not now. Not even for their son.

But he knows better than to make her and so they sit in silence until she gathers enough of her reserves to ask, "Have you called your sisters?"

It's late – too late – but they'll still want to be here. She knows her daughters like she knows their father.

Knew.

Like she _knew_ their father.

"They're on their way."

The _thank you_ is lost somewhere in the thick of her throat.

Her son's hand squeezes her shoulder as he tells her, "I'll get a nurse." His voice is unfamiliar, soft and strong and swollen with tears, and she's grateful for his strength, for this moment of reprieve, because she's so very weary and she doesn't have any strength of her own to lend him.

When she feels him leave the tears finally slip from her eyes, silent and unheeded. They soak through the flimsy hospital gown, bathing Rick's skin with her sorrow.

This is the man who climbed past all her walls, the man who settled into her heart, filled it with love and family and purpose beyond, and without him she's empty. She doesn't know how to _be_ any more, doesn't know how to let him go, least of all when his hand is still warm in hers, when all she wants is to still be tangled up in him.

She can't accept that he's gone, not like this, not now, because all she can think is this is too–

_Normal_.

This death is too ordinary for him. The world doesn't end, doesn't open and swallow her alongside, the hideous clock on the brightly coloured wall continues ticking and it's all just so wrong.

Once upon a time they survived bullets and freezers and bombs. They slayed dragons. They lived through more than any person should ever have to face, the two of them, together, and it doesn't feel right that he goes like this, not by flame but quietly, unopposed into the night.

It's not right that he should be allowed to slip away so silently with such a large part of her soul.

Her Always extends beyond his and it's not fair that he leave her because- "You promised me forever."

And it's a secret that spills into the night, a secret that isn't, because the truth of it, she knows, is that he gave her all he had.

Three children – one his, two theirs – four grandchildren. A lifetime together. As much of it as he had to give her. The very best pieces of himself, he'd confided once, her and their children, their family.

It should be enough to force her out of this bed. It will. But they've had a lifetime together and now – now she has to learn to live without him.

She has to learn to live with the hole in her heart that he used to fill.

–


	3. December 20th 2017, 201am

**all across the hours 3/24**

–

**December 20th 2017, 2.01am**

–

Kate's laughter echoes off the high ceilings, her lips stretching wide into a grin. Her cheeks, she's sure, are flushed pink.

She's leaning into Rick's side, light and tipsy and liquid as they stumble through the lobby, propping each other up. There are people still milling about – bellboys and patrons and that guy who looks like he's been camped out for a week – but she just feels so damn delighted that she can't bring herself to care about the looks the two of them are getting.

"Okay," Rick concedes, "so maybe that part was pretty bad."

"It was worse than bad."

He frowns and she shouldn't enjoy the way his brow knits, shouldn't find it cute, but she does. Maybe a little too much.

"But that one little part doesn't mean the whole film was bad."

"It was the climax, Castle."

"All right, so maybe it isn't Oscar worthy, I'll give you that, but there were certainly redeeming features."

"Oh yeah? Name one."

He pauses to hit the call button. "Stunning scenery?"

"You mean that bimbo's-" Kate waves her free hand towards her own chest. "-assets?"

A twitch of his lips and then, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh."

"Had some killer lines," he points out.

"That you wrote."

Rick grins. "Ah," he says, "I get it."

"Do you now?"

With a flourish, he pulls her into the waiting elevator and announces, "You, my dear, were spoiled by the book!"

Kate laughs, canting further towards him. She revels in the solid feel of him by her side. It's not cold, not exactly, even in the middle of winter – it is L.A. after all – but his arm around her shoulders is still welcome warmth and she can't help but press a kiss to his jaw in thanks.

"Come on, Beckett," he says, pushing his advantage, "you have to admit the film had some great moments."

Rick casts an exaggerated glance around the empty elevator before his grin turns lascivious and he leans in close to whisper, "Like that sex scene."

And she knows what she _should_ retort but something holds her back. It's probably a combination of memories mixed with the images the actors made on screen, the fantasy they created together playing out...

Or it could be the warmth of his body against hers, the delicious heat melting into her side and spreading through her limbs...

_Or_ it could be just the feel of his breath, the sound of his voice, hot and low against her ear...

Whatever it is, it's enough. Her free hand finds his chest, fingertips slipping between the buttons of his shirt to stroke the fabric beneath lightly.

He groans.

"Doesn't count," she finally rasps. "Saw that in previews."

When he laughs at her she uses the arm around his waist to pinch his side and he lets out an adorable yelp.

Rick's still grinning, soft and happy and she's hit, all of a sudden, all over again, with just how much she adores this man.

And so she tells him.

He laughs, louder this time, more joyous.

Kate manages a glare. "What?"

"You're drunk."

Ah. Yes, she supposes, she probably is. But so is he. He at least matched her, she's knows, drink for drink at the after party. "Your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yep."

They reach their floor and it's his turn to follow her to their door.

"How is that my fault, Beckett?"

"Your fault," she confirms, "for letting them make that god-awful movie. Had to drown my sorrows."

Rick slides both hands around her waist. "It was that bad?"

She doesn't answer, focused as she is on the lock and his hands and _oh_–

"Poor Derrick."

She's maybe incredibly relieved when the door _finally _opens.

"Poor Derrick," she echoes, leaning back into his chest for a moment. "He was my favourite, you know."

"I know. So, how can I make it up to you?"

"Oh, I can think of a few ways."

He kicks the door closed as he follows her inside. "Me too."

–


	4. March 7th 2014, 301am

**all across the hours 4/24**

–

**March 7****th**** 2014, 3.01am**

–

Her hand fists in his shirt, rough and demanding, as she tugs him towards her. There are bullets flying over their heads, splinters of wood showering like rain as their lips crash, teeth colliding in a quick, rough kiss.

He tastes the _goodbye_ on her lips, the broken promise, and then she's shoving him back, sudden and hard. He's surprised enough that he's caught off balance, falling back behind the wall of crates that shelter them, left to watch her spin around the corner and out of sight.

She thinks she's saving him. Sacrificing herself to keep him safe, drawing attention away, letting him escape.

And she's damn insane if she thinks he's going to let her.

No way.

Not a chance.

He's felt her blood stain his hands once before and that memory is still too fresh – will always be too fresh – for him to shelter behind her bravado.

By the time he's poked his head around the corner she's already out of sight.

"Beckett?" He keeps his voice low, but even the whisper is enough to get him noticed and he has to duck back behind shelter as bullets fly his way.

Rick cringes, hunkers down as he's showered in debris. He wishes he were armed. With martinis, preferably, somewhere on a beach in St Lucia, but a glock would do the trick nicely too.

The rain of bullets stops and he's worried – if they're not shooting at him then they're back to looking for her – until he hears a guy yell out in pain.

_Yes!_

Score one for the good guys.

One down. Three? Maybe four to go?

It's quiet for a long moment and then he hears three shots, fired in quick succession – just like their victim, right? Three shots, centre mass – and he has to risk a glance around the edge of the crates.

Nobody fires at him – and that's good. That's great. Because it means two things. One, he has time to move so he isn't quite the sitting duck; and two, they're still looking for Kate.

There's another wall of crates ahead and to his left – probably what Kate used as shelter when she ducked out of sight – and, really, he's got no choice. Gotta make his move.

Quickly, quietly as he can, he moves into a crouch and makes his way to the edge of the crates.

Another quick glance to check that it's clear and Rick propels himself around the corner. He makes a break for the wall of protection but he isn't as fast as he once was, his knee never quite the same after that accident in Aspen.

They spot him.

He dives behind the nearest pillar but – _fuck_ – he's too slow.

He feels the bullet as it tears through his thigh.

If he survives, the scream, he'll say, was very manly.

He thinks, maybe, he hears two more shots and the thud of two bodies but all he can focus on is the burning in his leg and the – _shit_, _should there be that much blood?_

Apply pressure to the wound, he knows, but the sharp, searing pain makes his vision start to go black and if he passes out now he's as good as dead. He stops. Lets it bleed.

Not good, but preferable to taking another bullet while he's drooling on the floor.

Another shot rings out. And then nothing. No commotion. No muffled voices. Silence rings in his ears.

Is she – did they shoot her?

He has to know. If it kills him, he has to know.

"Kate?"

More silence is all that meets his shout.

Gritting his teeth, he claws his way back towards open ground, his useless leg dragging behind him. Each inch is agony – white-hot agony spreading through his veins like fire.

He wants to stop, catch his breath, but the silence - _Christ_.

What if she was the last body to drop? What if she's injured? What if she needs him?

No. He can't. Can't think of it.

Desperate, he calls again, "Kate!"

"Castle?"

She's okay.

Fuck. Good. Yes.

Rick lets himself fall forwards, tension draining out of his shoulders. His forehead meets the cool cement floor as pure, unadulterated relief dulls the edges of his world.

Moments later the doors to the hanger slam open and a sea of New York's finest swarm the building. Perfectly rubbish timing as always.

He's lost, too exhausted to call out, half-sheltered behind the pillar in the sea of activity but Kate finds him, clever hands rolling him onto his back, cool palms a balm against the flames licking at his skin.

There's a shake in her voice. "You're bleeding."

"Shot." Simple. Eloquent. Less is more, right? Someone told him that. Who – doesn't matter.

It's hard to pay attention to what she's saying so he stops trying.

Kate's face is screwed up in concentration, a little crease forming between her eyebrows and damned if she isn't beautiful when she's furious. But then, he's always known that – it's half the reason he enjoys teasing her so much.

"This is going to hurt," she says.

He knows she does because he watches the way her lips move–

_Fuck._

–Rick hisses as she presses against the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. The pain brings the world back into sharp focus.

"I'm sorry," she says. And, "I know."

He looks at her hands, can't look at her face, and it's a stupid thing to notice but he doesn't like the way the red colours the rings on her fingers.

"Paramedics are on their way, just hold on, Rick."

Rick nods – thinks he nods – the blackness is starting to creep in on the edges of his vision. He's going to pass out. It's inevitable at this point. He just kinda hopes he wakes up.

"Hey!"

His head snaps up.

There's fire in her eyes. "Don't you dare check out on me."

Tears too.

"Be a cool scar," he says, trying to distract her. "Impress all the girls."

She manages half a smile before the paramedics arrive.

They brush Kate out of the way and it's all a flurry of action and words and hands that shouldn't be pulling at his pants but are.

He's moving before he knows it. Onto a gurney and then out of the hanger, fast as they can, the motion making his leg breathe fire and his stomach want to revolt.

Still, he watches her as they race him out, a portrait of fury and pain, painted in his blood.

–

**a/n: **Job interview tomorrow guys so it may take a few days of wallowing before I can get the next chapter done. Please be patient with me. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, I've loved hearing your thoughts.


	5. September 20th 2015, 401am

**all across the hours 5/24**

–

**20****th**** September 2015, 4.01am**

–

"Do you still want to kill me?" The stark lighting of the hospital room makes his question seem harsh, but he's smiling at her, lips quirked in that stupid, stunned half-grin he's been wearing since the night before.

"That depends."

Rick's smile falters but doesn't disappear completely and damn her, but she finds it cute. Adorable, even. Must be the hormones.

"Did you bring me any coffee?"

When he holds up a cup her heart skips a beat – it's been so, so long – but the hand she's holding out drops when he says, "Decaf."

"I'm allowed the regular stuff now. A little bit, anyway."

Rick places the cup on the table beside her bed. "I know, but I thought you might want to try and sleep a little bit."

Considerate of him, sure, but – sleep? No. Kate's sore in ways she could never have imagined and, yeah, she's a kind of bone-deep-exhausted, but she doesn't want to sleep.

"I don't think I'll ever sleep again."

She's enthralled. Fascinated. Enchanted. She feels like she could run off this feeling forever – if only she had some coffee, that is.

The scrape of chair legs catches her attention and she watches Rick pull the visitor's chair close enough that his knees, she's sure, are brushing the side of the bed. "I know what you mean."

She follows his gaze to the small, swaddled bundle resting on her chest. She thought she was full to the brim, but a new, strange, crazy kind of love starts bubbling in her heart as she watches her husband's fingers gently stroke the boy's temples.

She's spent a lot of the last six months reading books and listening to the endless recount of stories but nothing prepared her for just how quickly, how _completely_ she's lost her heart to the small person cuddled against her.

"He looks just like you." Rick's fingers pause and their son's eyes open wide. They're a bright, curious blue – just like his daddy's.

He smiles at the boy. "Hey there, Champ."

They'll be taking him home soon, this most precious little person, and the idea terrifies her more than she thought it could. "Are we really ready for this?"

"I think so. I made a list."

Kate freezes – was she supposed to prepare a list?

They have everything they need for the trip home in her overnight bag. The nursery is set up at the loft. They have mountains of diapers and boxes of bottles and dozens of tiny, adorable little pairs of socks.

She doesn't remember anything about a list.

"A list?"

"Two lists, actually."

_Two_ lists?

"The first one," he continues, oblivious to her growing panic, "is ordered alphabetically. The second by preference."

She knows he _can_ be organised, but – "Alphabetically?"

"Okay." His eyes flick up to hers and his grin broadens before he fishes his phone out of his coat pocket. "Stop me when you hear something you like."

Something she likes? _What?_

"Aaron."

Oh. Is he –

"Adam. Aidan." Rick pauses, eyebrows raised.

– he is.

At her silence, he continues. "Alexander."

"Wait."

Surprise colours his face. "Really? I mean, I like Alexander too but it's just so close to Alexis. People will think we're trying for a theme. What about if we have more kids?"

Kate laughs – can't help it – and the movement makes the baby start to fuss.

"Hey there, little guy," she coos, soothing her hand down the boy's back.

As he settles she notices Rick fidgeting, shifting in his seat like he's fighting the urge to – oh. "Take him," she suggests.

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

Rick's face softens as he reaches over and gently lifts the boy into his arms.

"Daddy's got you," he says, cradling their son against his chest and Kate's heart does another of those funny little skip things when he drops a kiss onto the top of the boy's head.

Kate rests back into the nest of pillows, afraid she's starting to lose the battle to stay awake as she watches father and son.

"Sleep for a few hours," Rick suggests.

She shakes her head. "Were you reading me a random list of baby names?"

"They're not random, I looked up their meanings."

"When?"

"When I went for coffee."

The yawn cracks her jaw.

Rick's grin is definitely bordering on smug. "Really, Kate, sleep."

"Why the list?"

"We only settled on a girl's name."

Kate closes her eyes – just for a moment – the picture of her two men painted on the back of her eyelids. It makes her want to smile. So she does. "He's only a few hours old, Castle.

"His name can wait, right now I have everything I could have asked for."

And it's supposed to be one of those glimpse-into-her-soul-moments that she knows he loves, but Rick blurts, "Asked for! I have one for that."

Her eyes snap open to see Rick fumbling with his phone. Kate reaches over to pluck it from him and peers at his list.

Bradley. Carter. Lucas – Maybe. _Malcolm?_ – Ugh, really? No.

"Second page, third from the bottom," he directs.

She flicks the across screen. "Samuel?"

"Do you like it?"

She rolls the name around in her head. She does. "It means asked?"

"Asked of God."

She spies the tuft of dark hair peeking out of the top of the blankets, remembers the blue of his eyes, the curl of his lashes. He looks so much like his father, despite what Rick says, and yeah, maybe she really likes that. Maybe it's everything she could ask for. Maybe it's –

"Perfect."

–


	6. November 12th 2019, 501am

**all across the hours 6/24**

**–**

**November 12****th**** 2019, 5.01am**

–

The plan is simple enough that he's sure it's going to work but Rick isn't expecting the elbow – sharp and bony – to his ribcage and he can't help it. He yelps.

He's sure he can see her grin in the dark.

"It's your turn."

"It's not," he says even though he knows it is. "I was just up at one."

"I got up at three."

"You should go." He huffs. "You're more awake than I am if you can remember that."

He's prepared for the next elbow. He doesn't manage to dodge it, but he doesn't yelp either, and that's got to count for something.

"We're too old for this," he says, feeling more tired than he has in decades.

"We're just out of practice," Kate counters.

Rick's sure his back creaks as he sits up. Yep, he's definitely too old for this. "Remind me, why'd we decide to have another?"

"They were having a buy one, get one free sale on car seats down at Planet Kids."

"Oh, that's right. You know, that's a terrible reason."

"Too late to change your mind," she tells him.

Rick grins, brushing his hand over the growing swell of his wife's belly. "Wouldn't want to."

Their charge lets out another sharp wail and he winces.

"You'd better get up before she wakes up Sam."

The thought of two grumpy children is more than he's capable of managing on little sleep, that much he knows.

"Next time I offer to babysit," he says, levelling Kate with a serious look. "Shoot me."

"Don't tempt me."

The crying grows louder, more insistent, and his heart starts to ache for his little girl as loudly as his head is screaming for his pillow.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." His bones groan in protest as he pushes himself upright.

Let's see if he remembers how to do this – quick? Yes. Like ripping off a band-aid. Okay, nothing else for it. Rick steals a kiss before he rolls over and throws the blankets off, uncovering them both. Cool air hits them like a slap and Kate yelps, scrambling for the blankets in the dark.

The pillow hits his face just as he finishes knotting his robe.

"I hate you," he hears her call as he stumbles out of their bedroom.

Rick grins all the way to the nursery.

"Okay, baby girl," he says, flicking on a light. "It's time to go back to sleep."

He realises, just before his eyes adjust, that the crying has already stopped and he curses himself. He should have remembered that Alexis told him Melanie had started to self-soothe. He really is out of practice.

He's about to flick off the lights, try for a quick exit, when he hears an all too cheerful, "Hello, Daddy!"

"Sammy?"

It takes a long moment for his brain to process what his eyes are trying to tell him.

His four-year-old son is sitting in his granddaughter's crib, cuddling the toddler on his lap. They're surrounded by what must be the entirety of Sam's stuffed toy collection, three toy trucks and his son's favourite blanket.

Rick enters the room cautiously afraid he might actually be dreaming. Melanie blinks up at him as he approaches, clutching a stuffed purple dinosaur in each hand as she waves her chubby little arms. She lets out an adorable, happy little gurgle and he's happy to note the tears on her cheeks are already fading.

Rick catches his granddaughter's hand before she bumps it into Sam's face and drops a kiss on her tiny little fingers.

"What are you doing up, Champ?"

The boy grins at him, all pride and happy and entirely too awake. It's with a sinking feeling that Rick realises Kate is most probably going to kill him.

"Bubba was crying."

Rick brushes a plastic giraffe to the floor before he sits down next to the two of them – he'll pick it up later – and asks, "Why are you in her crib?"

His son frowns at him like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Bubba was crying, Daddy."

Rick opens his mouth to ask why again but changes his mind. "How'd you get in there?"

Sam points at the chair he's sitting on. It's clumsily, Rick realises, pushed up against the railings. "I climbed."

Of course.

"You know you shouldn't climb, Sammy-boy."

"I know." His son sighs, clearly exasperated at his father's inability to grasp the gravity of what he's trying to tell him. "But the baby was crying, Daddy."

"I know, son, but you should have stayed in bed."

Bright blue eyes level with Rick's. "But I'm her uncle."

_Ah_.

And how can he argue with that?

He can't.

And so Rick does the only thing left he can do – he fetches his cell phone and snaps a photo.

–

a/n: Apologies for any errors - I should be sleeping right now, not writing. (On that note, I'll also be late in replying to reviews, sorry!) And a big thank you to the two lovely ladies who helped encourage me this week. Your kindness was very much appreciated.


	7. June 10th 2023, 601am

a/n: Posting this early because hitting 100 reviews made my afternoon. Also, there's going to be radio silence over the weekend, so I wanted to get this one and possibly the next chapter out before then.

–

**all across the hours 7/24**

–

**June 10****th**** 2023, 6.01am**

–

It's obvious as soon as he walks through the doors – he's late.

Rick catches a glimpse of the grief, written deep into the lines of Kate's face, before she burrows into him. Dread wells in his chest like a thick black knot, suffocating him from the inside out, and he can feel it in the tight grip of the hands that fist in his shirt as his own lift to close around her. He's too late.

The call, when she'd taken it, had been brief, quiet. A non-event. He'd still been mostly asleep when it had ended.

"Body drop?" he'd asked and she hadn't replied.

She'd looked stiff, her movements clipped, her shoulders carved from stone as she'd thrown on some clothes and slipped her badge into her pocket.

"Find someone to mind the kids," she'd told him, voice low and choked and he'd known then that it was probably going to be bad.

He'd called Alexis. She'd rushed over and he'd taken the time to say hello, kiss her cheek. He'd taken the time to tell her that Sam liked peanut butter on his toast – no crusts – and that Sarah liked chocolate milk on her cereal. He just hadn't –

He hadn't realised.

And now–

Kate's tears paint the story against his neck.

The air is heavy with tension.

Rick's afraid he already knows the answer when he asks, "What happened?"

Nobody speaks.

Kate's grip on him tightens. She's still trembling but she's stopped crying. He doesn't know if that's a good sign.

She makes no attempt to let him go and that's just fine – he doesn't want her to move, needs her to stay just where she is. He needs to feel her breath, a warm reminder against his neck, because nobody has to tell him that there's a missing piece of the family they've puzzled together.

And he knows – _he knows_ – but he can't help himself, he still has to ask. "Where's Ryan?"

It's Esposito who answers him. "There was a car accident last night. Drunk driver." The other man's voice is tight. Thick. Choked. He has to pause to take a deep breath. "He didn't make it."

Esposito keeps talking, but Rick doesn't hear the rest, his friend's words drowned out by the sudden rush of blood through his ears, the white noise that blocks out the world around him.

Grief leaches through him. Dread. Terror. His heart feels too heavy for his chest. He thinks he nearly stumbles but Kate's grip on him is so tight that she keeps him standing.

He's not sure how long it is before he finds his voice, manages to ask, "Jenny? The kids?"

"They're fine."

And it should be a relief, but it isn't.

It isn't even close.

–


	8. February 3rd 2014, 701am

a/n: Couldn't leave you guys with the sad chapter all weekend. I'll respond to reviews individually as soon as I can but I want to say thanks very much now - I love hearing your thoughts.

–

**February 3****rd**** 2014, 7.01am**

–

"So, will you?

"Will I what?"

She's distracted, flipping pancakes on the stove, bacon frying in the background, the eggs already cooked. Alexis is asleep upstairs, back from school this weekend and Kate's going all out.

Sunday brunch.

Like her mother used to do for her, she's doing for his daughter.

And it makes something inside him flicker. So, this time, when he says it, it's without question. "Marry me."

The spatula clatters to the countertop, pancakes forgotten and then she's whirling around to look at him, shock and panic waring for dominance across her face. "Marry you?"

Okay, so it's not the reaction he was hoping for. Not even close. It's not his most eloquent proposal, no. There are no balloons or great big grand gestures and maybe he's done it all wrong but still, he figured he'd get something a little more promising, even without all the flair.

"Are you insane?"

"No." He's not. Just because it seems out of the blue doesn't mean that it is. Not at all. He's thought about the prospect. A lot. More than he should admit to if he wants to maintain any shred of his dignity at this point.

He just hadn't worked out the kinks of the actual _asking_. But he's thought about it. Thought about it _with her_ since they've been together. Since before that. Since 'third times the charm' and watching his chance bleeding out in the grass and, maybe, he started to think about it as far back as 'wanting something magic'.

Make it last, though, that's his plan for this time around. And 'make it last' doesn't include blurting out _The Question_ half naked in his kitchen with flour in his hair and a dollop of batter on his chin.

It definitely doesn't involve her reacting so poorly she starts to over cook the bacon. He reaches around her to flip off one of the burners.

"Castle?"

"Forget it, Kate."

"Were you serious?"

He pulls back to look at her face.

"Wouldn't this be a terrible story to tell the kids?" she asks and something flutters in his chest – _tell the kids?_ – like she's thought about it too.

"It's original," he counters.

"Is it because you're afraid I make better pancakes?"

There's a teasing note in her voice, but something else too, something more. Something like uncertainty. Something that sounds like hope.

And so he takes a chance.

"It's because I want to marry you."

He leaps, headfirst. "It's because I want to spend every morning with you, every day, every night. It's because I like the man you make me want to be. But mainly, it's because I love you, Kate, and I just can't choke down the urge to ask any longer."

"That's-" she swallows. "That's some pretty good reasons."

"Yeah."

"Yes."

And he feels like a moron, a world class fool, standing in front of her, waiting for the verdict to a question she doesn't believe is real.

But then she's sliding her arms around his shoulders. The look on her face is familiar, teasing, light, like she's waiting for him to catch up and that's not right because – _oh_. Yes.

_Yes._

As in –

"Yes?"

The smile blooms across her face, big and bright and shining in her eyes.

"Yes, Castle. I will."

And then he's grinning too. Goofy and too-wide and he can't help himself, can't fight the urge to kiss her – decides not to.

She tastes bitter and sweet all at once, like coffee and mint and promises and _yes. _She tastes like their future, warm and glorious and smiling against his lips.

He feels her fingers trace at his ears, slide into his hair and he pulls her flush against him, has to fight the urge to spin her around. Twirl her like they're in one of those cheesy movies. He has the sudden urge to grab her hand and drag her down to the nearest courthouse, never mind that it's Sunday. Never mind that they're both in their night clothes still. Never mind that his daughter is due downstairs any moment-

He smells the smoke before the alarm goes off, the forgotten pancakes screaming for attention. He pulls away, fanning the air as she flicks off the burner, dumps their ruined breakfast into the sink.

"Look out-" and he's not sure if he runs into her or she bumps into him but there's pancake mix between them and he ends up wearing the majority of it.

Kate stares blankly at him, shocked, and then she's laughing, light and glorious and he laughs with her. Uplifted and a little crazy and so damn happy he can't help himself.

Ah, damn it all. He twirls her anyway.

They stick together as he sets her down, flour and sugar and eggs like glue between them and maybe he doesn't mind so much.

"We are not telling your daughter about this," she says, wiping a flick of pancake batter off his cheek.

"No?" He's not concerned – not overly – because she's still laughing with him, her eyes tender, her fingers lingering against his jaw.

"No," she returns. "Can't let her know you made me waste pancakes."

Rick makes a face at Kate's teasing smirk.

"And the guys," he says, thinking suddenly of his advice to Ryan all those years before.

"Oh yes," Kate says. "You'd never live this one down."

"We'll tell them there was skywriting," he decides.

Kate rolls her eyes but she sneaks up on her toes to steal a kiss. "No skywriting."

"Ninjas?"

"No."

"The CIA?"

Her face wrinkles. "Not a chance."

"Kittens?"

"No- wait, what?"

"My reputation is at stake here, Kate."

"We'll tell them you wrote me a sonnet."

Rick's face wrinkles. "Not a chance."

Kate grins. "You are a writer. It fits."

"_Fine_."

"Fine?"

"But I read it to you while we were skydiving."

–


	9. April 1st 2029, 801am

**Please note: the rating is increased for this chapter. **

–

**all across the hours 9/24**

–

**April 1****st**** 2029, 8.01am**

–

One final press of his lips against the still quivering skin of her inner thigh and Rick crawls up the mattress. He drops a kiss against the column of her throat and feels the skip of her heart, the flutter of her breath – it amazes him, the way she still reacts to him, still responds to his touch.

He aligns the length of his body with hers and Kate arches into him, her chest flush against his, hips and legs and arms, wrapped up in him, in every way possible. She pulls him down for a fierce, breathless kiss.

He's still mostly clothed, but he can feel the heat of her through his thin cotton shorts.

Kate moans softly into his mouth as his hips rock into the cradle of hers.

Nails scratch lightly along his back as she guides his shirt up and he has to break their kiss to help her pull it over his head.

"I love you," he tells her, because he does and it's his birthday and he feels, maybe, like being a little bit tender.

Kate raises her head – for a kiss, he thinks – but she uses the fingers tangled in his hair to turn his face away.

With her lips so close they brush the shell of his ear, she says, "Don't get soft on me now, old man."

Rick's head snaps up. He catches the impish grin on her face and he can't help the chuckle that escapes, swept away with joy and desire and a flood of stupid, giddy love.

"What are you trying to say, Detective?"

Her eyes are alight. He loves it.

"Are you happy to see me or is that just a notepad in your pocket, Castle?"

"I resent the very insinuation," he says, punctuating his sentence with a devilish swirl of his hips against hers. She does kiss him then, rough and hungry and smiling and that's okay, his heart wasn't terribly set on tender anyway.

Kate arches against him, liquid and fire, all long limbs and soft curves in a delicious slide of skin on skin. Rick's all but lost to the sensation of her against him. He still feels the slide of her calf as she wraps her leg around his. He knows what's coming before the room spins when she flips them. He doesn't bother to fight it – if he's going to be perfectly honest, he likes her on top anyway.

A groan escapes his lips when her weight settles over him. Hot and perfect and – _fuck _– she's just where he wants her, except not, _not exactly_, but he's enjoying the slow roll of her hips too much to rush her.

She kisses him, long and slow and intoxicating. Her hands burn against his skin as they slide along his ribs. Clever fingers slip into his boxers and then she's following the path with her lips, breasts lightly brushing his skin as she goes.

"Up," she commands, teeth scraping over his hip, and he arches his back to help her tug off his shorts.

And then – _God._

Her hand finds him.

Her mouth.

A curse escapes his lips at the slow drag of her tongue.

His blood spreads desire through his veins with every pound of his heart until his fingers are itching to touch her.

He's reaching for her when he hears it – the clatter of cutlery against hardwood floors.

An unsure, "Dad?"

A shocked, "Mom?"

And then Kate is scrambling, searching for their sheets before he can even register the sight of his youngest daughter standing in their bedroom doorway, her older brother directly behind her. Twin expressions of shock paint their faces.

_Oh God._

Kate throws a blanket at his chest.

Still in shock, Rick drapes it over his waist.

"What are you guys doing home?" his wife asks, her voice strained in an attempt to sound natural.

"B-breakfast," Sarah stutters.

Sam looks like he's going to throw up as he nods and adds, "In bed."

Rick looks down. Sure enough, there's a tray of food at his daughter's feet.

They keep talking – rambling, really – but all he can think is that his mother is supposed to have the kids which means –

_Ah, shit._

– Never one to miss her cue, Martha bursts into the room and runs straight into his teenage son's back.

"Why are you two stan– Oh." Martha slaps her hands over the children's eyes. "Oh my."

"We'll just-" His mother backs out of the room, pulling the children with her. "You two can- uh, dress."

He's going to die, any minute now, the ground will open up and swallow him whole – the universe owes him as much after that.

But he doesn't.

Rick's still staring when he feels Kate's hand on his shoulder. "Did that just happen?"

"I think it did."

"Oh, God." She looks mortified.

He feels it.

"I have to say, as far as birthday surprises go, not my favourite."

–

a/n: I apologise for the delay in getting this up, things have been crazy this past week. I also want to say thanks again to everyone - especially the guests - who have shared their thoughts, I've loved hearing them. I've even loved being yelled at. :)


	10. September 9th 2020, 901am

**all across the hours 10/24**

–

**September 9****th**** 2020, 9.01am**

–

There's a tug on his clasped hand and a young voice telling him he needs to let go.

Bright blue eyes peer up at him, sparking with excitement and the sort of eagerness that only lends itself to the young.

Kate runs her fingers through the boys hair, brushing his fringe out of his eyes only for it to flop forward almost immediately as his son hops from foot to foot.

She looks calm – a little melancholy, but calm – and he envies her because Rick feels like he's run straight into a wall. He thought he could be cool about this but he's hit so hard with the reality of the moment, with the way it echoes another, lived half a lifetime ago that all hope disappears.

If he thought this was going to be any easier the second time around, he was sorely mistaken.

Rick knows from experience, if he were to look over, his son's kindergarten teacher would be smiling at them sympathetically. He decides it best not to look.

He feels another tug and the small fingers within his grasp begin to slip.

"Not so fast, Sport," he says, tightening his hand around his son's.

"Daddy!" His son literally bounces, the boy's need to barrel forward and _discover_ so strong it can't be contained. In that respect he's just like his mother.

Alexis was shy at first, uncertain where Sam is bubbling with impatience, but it's all so very much the same despite the way it's wrapped differently – it is on his end at least. The excitement. The nerves. The fear. The absolute certainty that everything is going to change.

What happens next? That's awesome too, but it's _this_ part – the part where his son is just his, his and Kate's, before the world can have him – that he's finding so hard to let go of.

But he can't explain that to the young boy, excitement bleeding into Sam's very skin, and so he says instead, "You need to let me savour this moment."

"Why?"

"Today is the day I get my life back."

An identical set of eye rolls meets his proclamation and he has to grin.

"Don't be silly," the boy says. "Mommy and Sarah will keep you company."

His daughter perks up at hearing her name, her head heavy with sleep as it lifts off his shoulder.

"Mommy and Sarah? You know they're going to gang up on me."

Sam makes a face at his sister and Sarah squeals in delight, shooting from zero to sixty in typical fashion.

Kate laughs when their daughter's chubby fist collides with Rick's cheek.

"See? They're doing it already."

Sam frowns. "Sorry, Daddy but you have to be growed up now, I can't stay home and play with you."

Rick nearly laughs at the expression on his son's face – so very much older than his five years – but he doesn't because he could just as easily cry. Starting already.

There's a hand that slips around to settle on his neck, fingers that dance in the hair just above his collar. "Let him go, Rick."

To the his son's delight he does. With a final hug Sam runs off to meet his classmates.

He watches the boy, trying not to linger too long, but Rick's hand feels empty until Kate's slim fingers slip between his.

Kate leads him out. He's grateful when she pretends not to notice the way he's holding Sarah a little closer to his chest as they walk back to the loft.

They walk in silence for a while and it helps lighten his mood, the feel of his wife's hand in his, his youngest daughter's drool soaking his shoulder. He must still look pathetic though because after a block she turns to him and says, "It's only Kindergarten, Rick."

He grunts. "It's the start."

"Of school?"

"Of his _future_. First it's Kindergarten, then it's high school and girlfriends and college and before you know it he's going to be married and having his own kids."

Kate smiles. "I hope so."

"What?"

"I want him to get to do all those things and more." She looks so damn proud that his heart melts. "I hope we get to be there to watch him."

He doesn't mean to, but he blurts out a, "You're amazing."

Kate laughs, nudging his shoulder as they continue to walk.

Rick knows she doesn't understand how strongly he means it. This day is an echo, the same in so many ways but it's different too vibrant and colourful and hopeful – different in most of the ways that count – because of her.

–

a/n: I am so very sorry for the delay in getting this out. Hardware faults (and not being clever enough to create a back up) meant I've had to rewrite parts and real life has been more demanding than I anticipated.

I also want to thank everyone who has taken the time to share their thoughts, your comments have made difficult days far more bearable.


	11. July 11th 2045, 1001am

**all across the hours 11/24**

–

July 11th 2045, 10.01am

–

Kate runs her fingers through the loose curls of Sarah's hair. Her daughter's reflection grins up at her, cheeks flushed with happiness, dark eyes glistening. The white and the lace and the years all melt away until she's staring into Sarah's face and seeing it all, all at once, grown woman and little girl both.

The lines around Kate's eyes deepen as her smile widens to match her daughter's.

"I'm so proud of you," Kate says, heart full up and brimming with it. "Your father and I both are."

Sarah leans back, tilting her head and lifting her eyes to meet Kate's. Her daughter catches her hand and squeezes tight as the smile on her face trembles. "I love you guys."

"Don't you dare cry, you'll ruin your make up."

Sarah laughs, the tremble of tears disappearing as she bumps her head back against Kate's abdomen. "Way to spoil the moment, mom."

"You're welcome." Kate makes herself focus on her daughter's auburn locks. "What are we doing with this?"

The young woman pretends to consider, pretends that she hasn't had every detail carefully planned for years, from the flowers to the music to her make up and hair and bridesmaid dresses.

"Up," she says finally and Kate grins.

Up is how they've been doing it ever since Sarah was a little girl, pretending to marry her dolls. The memory springs to mind easily, the little girl clutching her daddy's hand, dressed in her makeshift white gown and her mother's heels.

Kate remembers the way the details changed as her daughter had grown – bright pink roses to classic white, strawberry milkshakes to sparkling champagne flutes – but some things had always stayed the same. Her hair up, her mother's dress, the skip in her dad's step as he'd walk her down the aisle, the way Kate would fuss over her in the mirror.

Kate twists her daughter's hair into an elegant bun, purposely letting some of the soft curls escape to frame the young woman's face. Sarah smiles her approval as Kate works.

"Are you nervous, sweetheart?"

Her daughter shakes her head, _no_. And then quickly nods, _yes_.

Kate laughs as the movement shakes loose Sarah's hair and she lets out a frustrated whine. Still her little girl, then.

"Hold still," she chides gently, trying to fix the mess before giving in and starting from scratch.

"I'm all kinds of terrified, mom," Sarah confesses.

"It's not too late if you think you're making a mistake."

Her daughter's eyes dart up to meet hers in the mirror. "I don't."

"Good."

Sarah bites her lip. "Do _you_ think I'm making a mistake?"

It's not exactly what Kate had imagined for her when she'd been watching her young daughter dance around on the tips of her husband's toes. It's not even close, really, but Kate smiles gently as she thinks of her daughter's fiancée, of how happy the woman makes her youngest child. "No, sweetheart, I don't."

"But you and dad-"

"Are so incredibly proud of you," Rick interrupts, coming up to stand behind them both.

Kate smiles at her husband's reflection over their daughter's shoulder. Rick's face is cracked with age but his eyes twinkle back at her.

"Thirty years later and your stare is still creepy, Castle."

"I'm allowed to stare today," Rick counters. "And who can blame me if I can't take my eyes off two of the most beautiful women in the world?"

Mother and daughter roll their eyes but they're both smiling. "Have you been here long?"

Rick shakes his head.

"They're waiting for you, sweetheart," he says, gentle eyes on their daughter. "Are you ready?"

Sarah nods and stands to accept her father's extended arm.

"I'm ready."

–

a/n: Put a rush on this as an apology for making you guys wait so long last time. Hopefully I can get the next one done quickly too. I want to take the time to thank everyone individually but until I get the chance: massive thanks to everyone who's shared their thoughts, you guys make my day.


	12. October 15th 2024, 1101am

**all across the hours 12/24**

–

**October 15th 2024, 11.01am**

–

Lanie dropped her off – she's still refusing to go to the hospital – but she looks pale, waxy, and he just-

He doesn't-

The bullet grazed her temple. Just a scratch, Lanie said, but there's still a trace of the rusty red of her blood where it spread down her cheek and no – damn it, no.

Kate's eyes are closed, her head lolling back against the headboard, face so drained of life that she looks so much smaller, so much more fragile than she is and it was too. damn. close.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"I'm fine, Castle."

She's too careless with her own safety, comes too close to getting herself killed too damn often – to getting them both killed, because he'll keep following her, right into that pit – and it's not fair.

He'll follow her into hell or he'll bang at the gates of heaven until they let him in. And it's not that he's worried about himself – he'd follow her into forever without hesitating – but they have their kids to think about and he _won't_.

He _can't_.

He won't let her make orphans of them. He won't let her leave them motherless. He raised one child that way and won't do it again. As much as he loves her – every facet, every angle, every wrinkle of her brain – he won't let her turn them into her.

"Kate-"

"It's just a flesh wound."

When she smiles at him it makes his blood boil, bubble up until it's spitting and hissing and spilling out of his mouth, fire and anger and a desperate, desperate yearning for her to just _be_.

"No, Kate. That was too damn close. Again."

Fire flashes in her eyes and she sits up straighter, squares her shoulders as colour springs to her cheeks.

"It's not like I asked to be shot, Rick."

She's always beautiful but she's breathtaking in her anger.

"The hell you didn't."

Kate's eyes narrow dangerously and he knows – he _knows_ – but it's not good enough anymore. "You can't keep running headfirst into danger, blind to everything but the battle. You and your _partner_," he says the word like it's something dirty. "You're both going to get killed. Do you honestly think Ryan wanted that?"

She's on her feet – swaying, but on her feet – and she brushes away the hand he offers. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Hit a nerve, has he?

Good.

"Forget me," he says, hands up, backing away. "Forget the kids."

"Rick-"

"What? You will anyway."

"Don't you dare."

"What about Lanie? When you get him killed are you going to be able to stand in front of your friend and tell her you did everything you could to keep her husband safe?"

"What the hell do you want from me? A guarantee? You know it doesn't work like that."

"I want-" He wants – _God_ – he just wants for her to put herself first for once, before her quest for justice, before the memory of the dead. To think about their kids. Their family. Him, even. Whatever. Whatever it takes for her to not run blindly over the edge of the cliff. "I want you to be less."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Just this once, in this one thing, be less than you are, Kate. Be less of a god damn martyr."

"I'm not-" She chokes on the words. Stops to take a breath. "I was doing my damn job. It's who I am, Rick, and I can't change who I am."

"Just let it go for once. Just-"

"Do you even realise what you're asking me?"

"I'm asking for your life. I'm asking for you to live it."

"You have no right."

"I have every right."

She deflates, collapses back to sit on the edge of the bed and it breaks his heart to watch. "You knew who I was before I married you, Rick. If you wanted-"

"No, Kate. No. That's my point."

"Fuck you and your point."

"Real mature."

She's on the verge of tears, holding on with every shred she has and he can see it, can see the way her eyes plead with him to understand. The way she doesn't mean to.

Two kids, nearly a decade of marriage, everything they've shared and she still won't let him see her fall apart. "Get out."

"I just want you, Kate. I want you to live long enough to grow old with me. I want you to watch your kids grow." Rick catches her gazes, lets the truth of his words colour his eyes. "I want you to care as much about that as you care about your goddamn job."

"Go," she says, broken.

He does.

–

a/n: Thanks again to everyone who has shared their thoughts, it makes this whole process a lot more rewarding. I'll endeavour (again) to respond individually, but my time is still rather right at the moment.


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